


Of men and machines

by Ischa



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Age Difference, Canon Related, Car Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ischa/pseuds/Ischa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shameless masturbation porn – or how sixteen year old John gets himself off in Bruce's car. </p><p>  <i>The alley is dark, the car mostly hidden and the windows tinted. Pretty much a one in a lifetime opportunity, John thinks again, rubbing his hands restlessly over the soft leather of the seat, his legs, the dashboard. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Of men and machines

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by Icalynn. <3  
> Title inspired by Rasputina's 'The Olde Headboard'.

John is on his way home from school when he sees the car. He knows it's Wayne's car because he had made himself familiar with everything Wayne related since that faithful day he first saw him. John might have developed a fascination right then and there, but by now it's an obsession that toys the line to creepy. 

John also knows how to break into a car like this, even he suspects the Batman has taken some extra measures to keep people out. He had asked Kyle about breaking and entering. She hadn’t even bat an eyelash over the fact that the good boy wants to know something like that. He thinks she delights in all the small ways he, his obsession, is corrupting himself. 

John wonders why Wayne left his car in this part of town. Stupid, but then he is Batman, so maybe not. Most likely something Batman shaped came up and he had to leave it here. He will be back for it, for sure. Or that butler of his.  
A chance like this won't come again. John knows that. 

He walks around the car, stroking a finger over the glossy surface. It's slick, black, and cold to the touch. He shivers with anticipation and desire, and wonders if the Bat-suit would feel similar to the surface of the car. John takes a deep breath and then takes his tools out. A gift from Kyle. It's open in under a minute. He has always had fast picking skills. 

John slides into the passenger seat and breathes the car in. There is a faint smell of aftershave in the air. He closes his eyes.  
The alley is dark, the car mostly hidden and the windows tinted. Pretty much a one in a lifetime opportunity, John thinks again, rubbing his hands restlessly over the soft leather of the seat, his legs, the dashboard. 

He's wasting time he decides biting his lip. He wants to be naked. He wants to feel the leather, the hard smooth surface of the dashboard against his skin. His legs, his ankles, his _dick_. He strips his jacket, hoodie and t-shirt, pressing his bare back into the seat. It's only slightly warm until he starts opening his pants and his whole body flushes with anticipation, need and the slight wrongness of it all. But it's also a thrill, makes it better, makes John feel everything so much sharper. He rips off his shoes, socks, and pants too. Bracing his legs against the dashboard, spreading them until he's slouching comfortably in the seat, he runs his hands over his legs, his sides, his torso, neglecting his dick for now. Wondering what Wayne's hands would feel like on him, spreading his legs open slowly. What Batman's would feel like, pushing, and pulling him closer. 

John closes his eyes and feels, imagining Wayne's lips on his ankles, Wayne's fingers grabbing his thighs hard, leaving kisses and bites on their insides. The thought of Wayne's lips around John's dick makes John's breath stutter and he moans, grabbing the soft seat harder. He needs to touch himself, he just needs to, so he edges his fingers slowly over the seat to his legs and up to his cock. He wraps his hand around and strokes it firmly, but slowly. Wishes for leather-gloves...his eyes snap open with an idea and he turns in the seat, until he can kneel comfortably on it. He scoots closer to the back, so he can thrust gently against the now warm leather of the seat. He grabs the back of it hard and begins to thrust in earnest, working towards orgasm. Imagining how it would be thrusting against Batman's hard body, or Wayne's expensive clothes. 

He comes messily against the seat with a bitten back. “B-”, which could mean anything falling against the dashboard. It's cold and uncomfortable, but the shock of it against his skin makes his brain think again. “Fuck,” he says looking at the mess he's made. He fishes for a tissue and wipes it off as good as he can. It's not really a great job. A laugh bubbles up inside him and he lets it out while he puts the tissue away and grabs a pen and a torn piece of paper. 

'Sorry for the mess,' he writes in a hasty scrawl and after a second, he adds 'thanks' at the bottom before he puts it on the dashboard and begins to put his clothes on. Maybe he should write 'please don't sue' on the back too. After all he had just jerked off in Wayne's, fucking Batman's, car and left enough evidence to be easily tracked down. On the other hand: Batman really has bigger fish to fry. 

John looks around a last time and gets out of the car. He locks it up again and lingers for some fucking reasons, running his fingers over the shiny black hood until he hears noises coming closer.  
He ducks, pressing a fast kiss to the hood and runs.  
He feels high and light and doesn't care one fucking bit if this comes back to bite him in the ass again. It's jerk off material for months to come. 

 

~+~  
Bruce knows someone broke into his car, he had been expecting it, after all he had to leave it in the shadier part of town. Well, he had expected someone to _try_. This someone had also succeeded. There are fingerprints on the hood of the car. And something that looks like a lipstick kiss, but made with a chapstick instead. Bruce shakes his head. What the hell?

“Ah, I see you have your car back, Master Bruce, and in one piece too,” Alfred says, putting a tray with food and coffee down.

“Yes. In one piece,” Bruce replies a bit distracted. Someone has been inside or the alarms wouldn't have been triggered, but when the driver got the car he said the doors were locked. Who breaks into a car and steals nothing?

“Would that be all, Master Bruce?” Alfred asks and Bruce looks at the clock. It's way past anyone's bedtime.

“Yes, thank you Alfred.”

“Good night Master Bruce.”

“Good night Alfred.”

“Ah, Master Bruce,” Alfred says and takes out a wrinkled piece of paper, handing it over to Bruce.

“What is it?” Bruce wants to know.

“The driver threw it out. Didn't think it was important, but he says, he found it in the car.”

Bruce reads the piece of paper. It's standard notebook paper. The cheap kind. Nothing special about it or the pen it was written with, except maybe the colour. It's green.

“Thank you Alfred,” Bruce replies.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says and leaves.

As soon as Alfred leaves Bruce finishes inspecting the car and pulls up the camera footage. All of his cars are equipped with cameras, but it isn't public knowledge. Better to catch a thief with.

At first Bruce really isn't sure he's pulled up the right feed, because what he's watching is basically porn staring an under-age boy. But it's his car: the leather seats, the speakers in the back. His car. He knows it and suddenly the note makes a lot more sense. A kid jerked off in his car. Bruce's mind is stuck between being outraged and wanting to laugh so hard he'd possibly hurt himself.

In the end he watches it again.

He has pretty lips and dark eyes. A bit too thin, maybe fifteen or sixteen. Pretty much unashamed of his desires. In the position the boy's in Bruce can see everything: from his thin legs to his eyelashes. His closed eyes as he's stroking himself, moaning softly. Not that Bruce can hear. No sound at all. His brain supplies these little details without him needing to do much. He only watches the boy pleasuring himself, watches him turn around and thrust against the soft leather of the seat, watches his ass, and fingers clench as he comes: his head thrown back, the hair at the nape of his neck curling damply from his sweat.

It's breathtaking and Bruce closes his eyes and just breathes. And then he plays the video again. The second time around he notices different things: like the light bruises on the boy's back, the scar on his ankle, the small burn on the inside of his wrist, the nearly healed cut above his brow. It doesn't take away from the beauty, it somehow makes it richer. This boy is a real person. A real person who thought he was alone and unwatched. Bruce feels a bit like he stole this moment from the unknown teenager. As soon as the thought forms the guilt sets in and he stops the tape. The boy is biting his lip, his legs spread, his hands grabbing the seat hard. He's clearly fantasizing about someone. In Bruce Wayne's car. You don't have to be a detective to figure out who that boy is probably thinking about while he's pleasuring himself.

Bruce switches off the feed and gets up. He's not going to get anything done anyway tonight. He should take a shower and go to bed. Tomorrow he can think about what he's going to do.  
He strips out of the suit and walks upstairs. He's going to use the master-bathroom.

Bruce has had sex in that car, but it had been with a woman and he didn't think about how the seats felt or the dashboard, not like that boy he realises as he lets the warm water wash over him. It's getting hot and steamy by the second. He closes his eyes, running his hands over his body, trying to think about the last time he has had sex, or sex in the car. His mind goes back to the boy, the obvious pleasure on his face, the pretty lips. The thighs. His own hands on those thighs, spreading them slowly and carefully, but deliberately and mercilessly, making the boy moan and bite his lip to keep the sounds in. Bruce's eyes snap open as he realises what he's doing, but by then it's too late to stop his own orgasm. He lets his head fall against the shower-wall and breathes. 

What he needs to do is to delete that video. Leave the boy alone, not try to find out who he is, and get his car scrubbed. Maybe even sell it. In parts. To China.

Because the video, the car, the _boy_ , are a distraction, a temptation, a possible obsession and Batman can't have those. Can't give in.

He lets the water wash all the evidence away, grabs a towel, and goes to bed.  
He'll deal with it tomorrow.


End file.
